Reptiles of the Mind
by PippinStrange
Summary: Amazing Spider Man movie-verse, a series of one-shots. It begins when Peter Parker has questions that want answering, and there's only one person to ask- Doctor Connors, in prison. There are other smaller fights in the dark alleys of New York that need resolving. Aunt May has threatened to ground Peter if he returns looking like a street fighter. Prompted by the post credits scene.


**Reptiles of the Mind: **Amazing Spider Man [movie-verse]

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"_Did you tell the boy the truth about his father?" –_**mysterious man in the dark, appearing in Doctor Connors' jail cell, post-credits scene.**

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...

"Peter?" Aunt May's voice called from the kitchen, just when I thought I could make it out the front door.

I winced. _Caught again. _"Aunt May," I greeted hastily, dropping my backpack.

"Where are you going?" she came out of the kitchen, leaned on the doorframe, and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Out?" I offered, glancing at the door, and back at her, scratching the back of my head as I tried to come up with a really good lie. "Um—just out, you know."

Aunt May pursed her lips. "I want to know where you are going."

I did a double take at the front door. "Oh, you mean, where? Where I'm going? You want to know _where _I'm going?"

"Don't stall," Aunt May said firmly. "Tell me the truth."

_I'm meeting Gwen, I'm meeting Gwen—it's a good lie—it's a great lie! Gwen is believable. I mean, she's real. We're real. I'll meet Gwen—hey, Peter, where are you going? Oh, I'm going to see Gwen. Alright dear have fun have a cookie… _

"I'm going to the zoo!" I said, way too fast.

"Don't lie to me, Peter."

"No... no lying...? Uh, okay, um...I'M GOING TO THE PRISON TO VISIT DOCTOR CONNORS," I blurted, in a panic.

"What…?"

"I'm—uh—going to the, uh, jail." I cringed. "To visit… Doctor Connors."

"Peter!" Aunt May said in shock. "Why? I mean—the man tried to set off a toxic poison over the entire city. It's the same Doctor Connors, isn't it?"

"Eee…yeah. Same guy. He uh, well, he was a friend of my dad's, you know? I just, I just don't think he has anyone—it's sad, lonely, um—uh," I paused, trailing off. Aunt May didn't look upset, just confused.

"But he's a terrorist," she said bluntly. "Friend of your fathers' or no."

"He's not a terrorist," I exclaimed. "Don't you know it was the—you know the toxin, right? Like the cross-species genetics—it just messed with his head, s'all."

Aunt May rolled her eyes. "No one is evil anymore—kid psychologists nowadays—everything is a mental disorder. No one is held accountable for _evil _decisions."

"He's in jail, Aunt May," I said shortly. "He's being held accountable."

Aunt May sighed. "Well—you're the scientist. Will you be back for dinner?"

"Yes—yes—thank-you, Aunt May!" I ran to her and kissed her cheek. "Thank-you thank-you for not forbidding me from going—you're amazing! I'll be home for dinner, I promise!"

Aunt May gave me a small smile. "If you arrive home with any trace of cuts, abrasions, blood, or bruising, I will be grounding you."

"What…? Aunt May… I told you that was _just_ a run-in with a bicycle and a drug deal…"

"Was it?" Aunt May said crisply, eyes flitting down to the newspaper where Spider Man made headlines. "I swear to God, I will ground you till graduation if you show up for dinner looking like a street boxer. Clear?"

"So clear," I responded, flying out the door, grabbing my backpack, and taking care to gently shut the front door—which rattled the window like it was slammed, anyhow.

…

I fidgeted in the chair. Before me was a small glass window, with a few circular holes in it for communication. On the other side, a similar chair, a brick wall, and guards standing with arms folded. Intimidating looking, they never looked at me, acting as if they were made of plastic. _Maybe they are._

I rested my chin on the small counter, tapping my feet anxiously and waiting for them to bring Dr. Connors out. I'd been waiting for—okay, only four minutes. But with plastic looking guards and a fly buzzing approximately eight feet up in the air, it felt like a rotten eternity. I rested my forehead on the counter, then changed my mind, and sat up, tapping a beat with my fingers and checking the time again.

Finally, footsteps. A metallic click, buzz, and whoosh of air as the locked metal door was pushed open by another guard. He led out Dr. Connors, guided him to the chair on the other side of the glass, and motioned for him to sit down. Dr. Connors complied and was handcuffed to the arms of the chair.

He looked thinner and sadder. The green scales still crept up the side of his neck and cheek, and his arm stump looked paler and waxier. His orange jumpsuit didn't do much for the gray complexion and haggard, though direct, gaze.

"Hello, Peter," he said quietly.

"Dr. Connors," I replied, unable to exclude the reverence I usually used around him. That is, before he went all Godzilla on the big apple.

"When they said I had a visitor, I was most surprised," he said, his words always hovering on a polite whisper that might introduce an award-winning lecture.

"Yeah—yeah, uh, kinda surprised me too," I said awkwardly, almost smiling.

"What can I do for you, Peter?" Dr. Connors asked. He wasn't going to say it, but it was obvious he did not want to talk to me. He did not want to look me in the eyes. So he resorted to his professional, business attitude. As if I was a reporter, or just any kid, doing a report for school.

"I was going to—I _want to, _ask you a question," I grimaced. "About… well, about the algorithm…"

"I'd rather not discuss the events of last month," Dr. Connors said, crisply.

"No—no—not that, not the lizard serum, about my dad," I said quickly, almost regretting my question. "I wanted to ask you if you knew—who—who was after him?"

"We were mocked by the science community, but no one wanted to hurt your father," Dr. Connors said, as if informing me on any normal topic. "He was a good man—and while not appreciated for scientific validity—he was respected. I'm sure tabloids had their fun—but tabloids rarely pick up on science gossip."

"I don't think you know what I mean," I said, losing my nervous edge. "I don't mean after his, his, uh credibility—I mean, who wanted to hurt him? Someone was after my dad—and he got him."

Dr. Connors leveled his gaze at me, a mixture between perturbed and concerned. "They were killed in a plane _accident, _Peter. No one hurt your father intentionally."

"You sure 'bout that?" I said quietly. "I know why my father wanted to keep the algorithm a secret all those years."

Dr. Connors thought I was kidding. "Oh, you know, do you? Why?"

"To keep this from happening," I said, looking down at his handcuffed hands. "He knew it was dangerous—he knew it—he kept it safe, and I brought it out. It's my fault that this happened to you."

"Peter…"

"No, no, I'm not finished—I'm not here to apologize—I'm here to ask you—who was after the algorithm? You and my father were trying to figure it out—our house was broken into, and his office trashed—we left that night, they fled the country, they died, and it's been this messed up limbo ever since—who was after the algorithm?"

"No one in the science community believed we could do it!" he exclaimed. "So who would be after it, Peter? No one, that's who. Your father kept it a secret from me. No one else knew about it. Who would steal it? As far as the world was concerned, it didn't exist until it was tested on _me._" Dr. Connors sat back, breathing heavily.

I stared at him. "Was it you?" I asked, finally.

Dr. Connors stared at me blankly. "What?"

"Did you break into my—_my fathers_—office?" I asked. "You knew he was working on it without you, didn't you? You wanted your arm back. You wanted his research. You arranged for that plane to crash somehow, didn't you?"

"How dare you," Dr. Connors whispered hoarsely. Suddenly, his neck twitched. His face contorted. For a moment, it seemed like his eyes blazed yellow. He slammed his handcuffed hands through the glass window—it shattered—glass flew, sprinkled out like tinsel—he was throwing himself through, the alarms began the ear-splintering buzzing. The cop behind him flew into action. Dr. Connors arms were looped about my neck, and I was scrambling out of his grasp. Instinct screamed at me to leap out of harms way and climb up to the far corner of the room—to a safe viewpoint from the ceiling—but I was in a federal prison, I couldn't be Spiderman. Not now. I'd be arrested too.

The cop was tackling Dr. Connors, pulling him back, slamming him against the counter and shoving him towards the door. More cops flooded the back doors, bringing him in, putting small towels over the cuts on his knuckles and dragging him back to the door.

"Son, you need to leave," said a cop loudly.

I shook myself out of my shock, brushed a few pieces of glass from the front of my jacket, and popped my jaw. I nodded, shuffled backwards, wanting to make sure he wasn't regressing into—

"Son, it is _really _time for you to go," the cop barked again. They had successfully gotten Dr. Connors into the back room again, and disappeared, taking him back to his cell. The alarms were still buzzing. I turned and walking quickly out of the room, feeling a heavy weight on my shoulders, having left my heart and needed a place to settle elsewhere. Maybe I had solved a mystery—Dad may have just been hiding the algorithm from Dr. Connors. Maybe the implication made Dr. Connors angry because he loved my father, and was entirely innocent in that case.

Or maybe, he hired someone to investigate for him. Maybe he arranged to have the plane crash. Maybe his own engineered biocables from Oscorp plucked the plane from the sky and threw it to the ground, where my parents would have burned.

I bit my lip, sniffed, and wiped my eyes with my sleeve. I was always going to have three shadows. My own, and the shadows of my parents, standing over my shoulder, silent, not fully resting in peace, till I could find out what happened to them.

…

"Oh my god, Peter!" Aunt May exclaimed as soon as I opened the door.

"What?" I exclaimed loudly, whirling around and looking behind me. Nothing. No one trailing me with a gun or a rat sneaking towards our garbage over the threshold. _Why—what's the problem?_

I turned and looked at her. "What?"

"Your face," she said darkly, as if she were going to beat me up with the spatular she held in her hands.

"What about my face?" I dropped my backpack on the floor and marched to the microwave, looking in its' reflection. "I didn't do anything—oh—what? WHAT?" my reflection seemed to tell a little story that I had forgotten, about a certain Dr. Connors punching out the bullet-proof glass in my direction and very nearly grabbing me by the throat. There was a small bruise across my neck and a nice, long scratch across my chin.

"What—what? What did you do?" Aunt May demanded.

"Oh my god—no—Aunt May," I turned, beseechingly. "I didn't even know that was there—I swear—don't ground me please. It was just a little mishap at the jail. I swear, I swear to you. Please don't be mad."

Aunt May was mad. She was beyond angry.

"Dr. Connors punched out a glass window in front of my face," I blurted. "I'm not lying. That's what happened—we were just talking—they said he was clear for visitors but they didn't know he was going to be violent and the glass—he's got a strong punch—Aunt May, don't give me that look? Please please please—I'm so sorry."

She was silent.

"I'm still grounded, aren't I?" I asked meekly.

"You're very, very grounded," she growled, "I hope you don't have a date with Gwen Stacy anytime for the next week. You're canceling it if you do."

"Next week?" I asked hopefully. "You mean you're not grounding me till graduation?" When I had nothing else to do, I grinned, like a kid being asked to smile for pictures that he hated or show off a missing tooth.

"No, not till graduation," Aunt May sighed. "For a week. Eat, do your homework, go to bed. No Gwen Stacy, no facebook, or whatever it is you kids do."

"Yes, Aunt May, I promise."

"And don't play those stupid games on your phone."

"Aunt May, I am sorry, I really am," I said, kissing her on the cheek. I returned to the back door, shut and locked it, and retrieved my backpack from the floor.

"You're going to be honest with me, Peter. Someday," Aunt May said quietly.

"I am telling the truth about this," I pointed to my face.

"What about last week?"

I didn't answer.

"Or the night Doctor Connors was arrested?" she persisted.

I sighed, and glanced out the back window.

"Maybe you're telling the truth now," she said softly. "Maybe you aren't. Maybe you will someday. All I know is that I look forward to the day that you stop being so _deceitful. _I only hope that when that day comes, I'll actually believe you. It might be too late by then."

"Aunt May," I protested.

"Go upstairs," she said quietly, turning back to the pan on the stove. "Dinner is in a few minutes. I'll call you."

"Sorry," I apologized again, walking heavily from the room. My record was consistent—I regularly disappointed people. I told lies to cover up the whole mess surrounding Spider Man, and what I hoped to learn about my parents. Uncle Ben may have died, but Aunt May was paying a price in her own way—in a worse way, maybe, dealing with my stupidity, day in and day out—did she ever wonder if Uncle Ben would be as disappointed as she? If my parents would be ashamed of how I acted? I knew I stressed her out, I made her miserable, I could see it.

But was it worth it, if I were closer to getting answers?

...

_"The man who never alters his opinions is like standing water, and breeds reptiles of the mind."_

~ William Blake (November 28, 1757 - August 12, 1827)

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**The End**

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